


Enemy

by Magpiedance



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Murder, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpiedance/pseuds/Magpiedance
Summary: You're Strade's neighbour. He killed you. You didn't stay dead.





	Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm in your nightmares_
> 
> _and there's nowhere to run_
> 
> _-_

It couldn't have taken you more than fifteen minutes to claw your way out of the shallow dirt grave in the woods but they are the worst of your entire life.

In the absence of any other plan you walk, barefoot and almost entirely naked, in what you vaguely think is the direction of home. It gives you far too much time alone with your thoughts.

What the hell are you supposed to tell the police?

' _My neighbour murdered me but I got better_ '?

You touch the place on your stomach where he pushed in the knife. Nothing. Just fresh, pristine skin. The scar on the back of your hand from when you were a child is gone too. Who would ever believe that? You don't believe it. You must really be dead. This must be hell.

And who saw that coming? That nice German man who lives next door. Who always waves when he sees you coming home. Who helped you carry your new mattress up the stairs. Who trims the bushes in your front garden without you even asking. You used to take him baked goods as a thank you. He was always so gracious and polite. You used to blush when he'd clap his big meaty hand on your shoulder and say ' _No worries,_ _kleines_ _Häschen_.'

And then you saw something you weren't supposed to. By the time you realised you should run it was too late.

You walk the back way around the houses. You don't need someone seeing you like this; shell-shocked and covered in dirt.

Strade is in his back garden because of course he is. Sitting in a lawn chair with a beer. You don't even look at him. You're too busy dealing with your own shit to give a solitary fuck what he thinks about it.

You never got the chance to lock the back door that night so it opens immediately when you turn the handle. You lock it behind you now just in time to see Strade's face appear on the other side of the glass panels. You pointedly pull the curtain over. Not dealing with that right now.

You fucking _need_ a cup of tea.

You rinse the dirt out of your mouth while the kettle boils and go to look yourself in the mirror. You look filthy but otherwise perfectly normal. You inspect your eyes thoroughly. What exactly would be the signs of zombification?

That first sip of tea, while scalding, is perfect. You're starting to feel more human, finally. You need to get all this grave-dirt off of you though.

You don't bother putting your ruined underwear in the washing basket, it's going straight in the bin when you get out of the shower. You run the water slightly too hot to be comfortable but it feels right while you are sloughing the dirt off of you.

You steel yourself.

There's something you don't want to know, but you need to.

You gingerly lower your hand to where he forced himself inside of you.

There's no pain, no bruises, nothing. All traces of your ordeal are gone.

Perhaps predictably this is the moment that you hear the shatter of glass from downstairs. Apparently he's done waiting. You sigh and lean your forehead on the cold tile wall. You don't care any more. What more could he possibly do to you?

You lather soap on your sponge and try not to flinch when he yanks back the shower curtain.

You don't look at him. You can't.

Even so you can feel his eyes on you. His gaze feels like it's burning through you. You ignore it. You haven't got any of the answers he wants.

You hear yourself say “Could you get my back, please,” and you hand him the sponge, so apparently you've lost your damn mind.

He takes the sponge from you, carefully, and climbs into the shower behind you fully clothed. His lips find the back of your neck. He does wash your back but takes the opportunity to grope you with his spare hand. You don't care. You try to relax and just enjoy the human contact. After the day you've had you don't have the energy to be afraid.

His fingers stray to the spot on your stomach where there should be a stab wound and his breathing hitches. He presses himself up against your back, his wet shirt clinging to your bare skin, and worries your ear with his teeth.

You know what's coming and you don't react when your sponge falls to the shower floor as his hands fly to his belt.

You don't resist when he turns you and obediently wrap your legs around his waist when he lifts you up. Why not at this point? You moan when he slides into you, and bury your face in his shoulder so you don't have to see his expression.

He growls in your ear; “ _K leines_ _Häschen...”_ and you moan louder, squeezing your legs tighter around him.

He's overexcited and overstimulated and it really doesn't take too long before he's shuddering and erratically jerking to a halt inside of you, his whole body weight pinning you to the bathroom wall. His fingers clench and relax where he's holding you and he lazily kisses the skin of your shoulder.

You stare blandly at the ceiling and think about nothing.

Finally he pulls back enough to give you space to breathe, but doesn't let you down to your feet.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and sounds genuinely contrite if not regretful, “But I have to know.”

You're not the least bit surprised when the knife slides into your stomach.

You pray to god that this time you stay dead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Enemy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jC3nsYGGEYw), Mystery Skulls.


End file.
